Chapter 15

General Thorell looked out the window and watched the fires burn. He knew what the men were doing, and he applauded them for their efforts. Come morning, he would venture outside, visit with the wounded, speak with his captains, and decide the fate of the captured Spanish. War was brutal, it was wicked, and bloody, and those in power who engaged with the enemy held the responsibility to their men, their families, and their colleagues.

The library had been returned to just a fraction of its former glory. The carpet removed, the paintings straightened, the shattered glass and broken furniture destroyed. Bloodied handprints still marred the wall, and furniture scarred by the violence of blades would be repaired in the years to come. The room would never be the same. Over time, it would be redecorated, refinished, and its history lost, but the violence that occurred here would remain soaked within the walls and floorboards. He turned, looked at the desk that held evidence of Raboin's treasonous actions, and contemplated his next step. Thorell knew King Louis' expectations and what he needed as a king, a military leader, and a cousin.

"Come," Thorell said when he heard a knock at the door. He lowered his hands to his sides and watched Porthos and d'Artagnan enter the room. "How is he? Captain Athos?"

"Grave," d'Artagnan said. "He has yet to awaken."

Thorell nodded. "He killed Grimaud… and, according to Raboin, your captain was half dead when he did it…" He continued describing the events in the manner that General Raboin had told him. There was a tone of respect as Thorell spoke. The achievements made by a relatively small military had astounded him. While Athos had led the detail, the men who followed him had taken a chance on his leadership when they realized Raboin was no longer the man he had been years ago. Had they not… had they continued blindly to follow Raboin's orders, the results of the past months would have been disastrous. "I've sent word to Minister Treville about what has happened. He will be reassured that the border is secure and Paris is safe — at least for now."

"General Raboin?" Porthos asked.

"Passed away early this morning because of an injury that occurred during the heat of battle." Thorell grabbed several pieces of parchment and flipped through them. "Due to an unseen injury from years ago, I believe General Raboin was suffering the ill effects which caused his mind to grow…" he winced, "unsteady. Had it not been for the Musketeers and several of General Raboin's captains, the efforts to prevent the Spanish from crossing onto French lands may well have been in vain." He looked at their faces and said, "That is the official record." He relaxed the papers and allowed them to fall atop the desk. "Unofficially, General Raboin perished after taking a fall down a flight of stairs — it would appear he tripped over the hem of his cloak. Although, I believe it was the musket ball lodged in his shoulder and the infection that actually killed him. Aramis' skill with the musket proved…" he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, "exceptionally skillful. I took some time out of my day to look at the chateau from that tree," he looked at them and raised an eyebrow, "how Aramis was able to hit anything from that vantage point astounds me."

Porthos swallowed and looked at Thorell with a nod of respect.

"So he's dead, and the king gets the story he needs," d'Artagnan said with a hint of disappointment.

"The king does not need the events that occurred here to fester in the minds of his enemies — he must look strong, and understanding the complexities of his family is an essential duty… particularly for a Musketeer."

"I didn't say —"

"Lieutenant," Thorell said, and looked at d'Artagnan. "If the world knows his military can be compromised for treason — King Louis suddenly becomes the most vulnerable king in history… not only did his cousin betray him, but those associated with his rise to power did as well," he raised his eyebrows with a subtle shrug.

"But we all know how 'istory gets forgotten when fools rewrite it," Porthos said as he looked at Thorell.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath, crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded. "I would think he would look stronger for punishing a traitor?"

"Only if that traitor isn't family." Thorell turned, grabbed three glasses and poured them each some wine. "I am assuming command of Raboin's military. His captains will report to me. I have assigned Captains Fain and Comtois to the search of those who escaped the chateau during and after the battle. The others will continue to monitor the lines — most of the Spanish have retreated, but any good military commander would have left scouts to monitor the boundary."

Porthos stepped forward, pulled the note from his pocket and handed it to the general. "We found this tucked in Athos' belt… you should decide what to do with it."

Thorell took the note, observed the dried blood on the outside of the parchment and then opened it. He read the frantic script, the love of a father, a husband, and friend. The words of a man who knew he was about to die but wanted his family to know he was thinking of them. A man who gave up everything for pride and revenge. General Thorell nodded and said, "I will include this with my report to the king — he will decide." A tentative, but affectionate smile curled the sides of his mouth. "King Louis may at times act like a childish fool, but he is anything but." He took a deep breath, looked around the room, and exhaled slowly. "Sometimes it is best to know in your heart the truth… but to acknowledge and protect what is best for the country."

D'Artagnan looked at Thorell and then at Porthos, who inhaled deeply in frustration, but accepted the response.

"What about the Musketeers?" Porthos asked.

"The Musketeers are the king's regiment and, according to the king's wishes, you and your men have completed your duty. I will say," Thorell said as he handed them each a glass. He grabbed his own and then raised it in cheer. "If you're ever assigned to battle again… I do hope you will fall under my command."

"What does that mean?" d'Artagnan asked. He looked from Porthos to General Thorell.

"It means," Porthos smiled. "We get to go 'ome." He raised his glass and took a long drink.

"Unless of course Minister Treville has other plans, but," Thorell said, with a shrug, "given what has been accomplished, I doubt it — at least for now." His confidence was nearly overwhelming. His years of service, experience, and expertise shone through. While he may have seemed cold, unmovable, it was for a purpose. "Once your men can to make the journey, you," he looked at Porthos, "can decide when the time is right."

"Until Athos is back on his feet," d'Artagnan said.

Thorell nodded, raised his glass and said, "To Athos."

D'Artagnan curled his lips into a subtle smile and tapped Porthos' glass. He looked at General Thorell, who joined them. "To Athos."

Porthos exhaled as he thought about Alice, the Wren, the garrison, and the others they had left behind. He thought about his captain, his friend, and his brother and then closed his eyes. "All for one," he whispered.

"One for all," d'Artagnan finished and then took a sip of wine.